The Assassins
by Shellecah
Summary: The difference between a lawman and gunman wasn't always as distinct as Matt wished. Told in the first-person voices of: (Chapter One) Moss, Matt, Ma Smalley, Matt, Jonas, Sam, Matt, Kitty, (Chapter Two) Doc, Chester, (Chapter Three) Matt.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Moss

I knew straightaway the stranger was a gunman. I seen it in his deliberate movement, and the face. This one had dead dun-colored eyes and a face like a stone carving. "My horse is worn out," he said. "I need to trade him for a fresh one." He spoke measured, with no feeling in his deep voice, his talk striking the same low note. "Got my eye on your slate stallion there," he said. "I'll pay the difference."

The thought of refusing this brawny growed-up fellow made my nerves thrum. The stallion was my prized loan horse, over sixteen hands and strongly muscled. "He's not for sale," I said. "You can borrow 'im. Seventy-five cent, one day, as he's the best I got. You wanna cheaper loan, another horse'll cost you sixty cent."

"Don't want a loan, old-timer," said the stranger. "I'm buying, and that stallion's the only horse in your stable catches my eye. Name your price."

"He's not for sale, Mister," I said. "I told you."

"I won't waste time bickering," he said. "You won't name your price, I'll give you what I think he's worth."

"I ain't takin' your money," I said, as he pulled out a wallet.

"You can tear up these bills and use 'em for straw for all I care," he said. "I'm taking that stallion. I calculate fifty dollars plus my gelding. He's a fine Morgan, just four years. He'll have his spirit back with a good feed and some days rest. Thing is, I need a fresh horse on hand every minute of the day and night. I may have to leave Dodge sudden." He held the money out to me.

"No," I said. "I got horses to sell, that's what you want. But not the stallion."

"Stubborn old man," he said. He folded the bills and stuck them in my shirt pocket. "It's done," he said. "The Morgan's yours. Next time I come here, I'm saddling that stallion. He's mine now."

A darkness hung in the stable in the stranger's wake, like a cloud of locusts blown on a draft. Not on account of his face, which wasn't bad-looking in spite of the odd eyes and lack of any expression. He just gave a body a cold shuddery feeling that hovered after he left.

I wanted to keep my stallion, so I told the marshal. I handed him the stranger's fifty dollars, and described him.

"There are two other liveries in town," said Matt, as Chester poured me coffee. "This man can stable his gelding at one of them. I'll let him know he's going to jail if he shows up at your place again, Moss.

"Chester, go with Moss and get the stranger's horse, and tie 'im to the hitching rail outside the office there. Then find this man and tell me where he is. You say he's a gunman, Moss?" said Matt.

"Looks like one, sure. Got big eyes like a corpse's and a hard still face. Looks to think on every move before he makes it.

"Not meanin' to tell you your job, Matt," I said, "but if Chester tracks this stranger, he best be careful. Fella's a big one, tall too. I bet you'd have a time beatin' 'im in a fight, Matt."

"Should I oughter carry a shotgun with me, Mr. Dillon?" said Chester.

"No," said Matt. "He might take notice of you with a shotgun. You find him, don't say anything to 'im. Come tell me."

A foretelling hit me, then. Matt would kill the man. He seemed set on things his way, if the wrong way, no matter to him, and Matt wouldn't stand for it.

Matt

I figured I'd have to find the stranger. Doc treated me and Chester and Kitty to lunch at Delmonico's, and Chester was sleepy afterward. He said he needed a nap in the sun to get his wits about him. He slouched in the chair outside the office and snored past an hour. I was about to strap on my gunbelt, when Chester rushed in wide-eyed and breathing hard, leaving the door open.

"What is it, Chester," I said, as he limped fast to me. He didn't answer, just stood close by me and looked at the doorway.

A burly fellow stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and I saw right off he was the stranger, and like Moss said, a gunman. "I asked you a question," the man said to Chester.

"Just a minute," I said. I moved in front of the man. Though his shoulders were broad as mine, and his frame bigger, I had a good three inches on him. "You got anything to ask, Mister, ask me," I said.

He looked at my badge. "I traded that horse tied to your hitching rail for a stallion at Grimmick's Livery," he said. "I'm wondering how the gelding got here. Thought he might know," said the man, nodding at Chester.

"He shook ma shoulder to wakin' and yelled in my face," said Chester.

"I'm not a hollering man," said the stranger. "You were sleeping so sound, it was needful to raise my voice."

"What's your name," I said.

"Thorpe," said the stranger. "Judd Thorpe."

"What's your business in Dodge, Thorpe," I said.

"I work for the United States government," he said. "I'm an assassin. Know what an assassin is, Marshal?"

I calculated he thought like most of his breed that he was real smart, compared to lawmen particular. I looked into his dead eyes, and wanted to kill him. "Mm-hmm," I said. "You're a gun for hire."

"An assassin's not any hired gun, Marshal," said Thorpe. "I work for the Department of the Interior. There's dispute about whether to kill me, since the department paid me to shoot one of their own, and I know too much. They're afraid I might tell important people in Washington, like the president. For a price, that is. So the ones who want me alive and on the payroll told me to disappear for my safety. They'll wire me to come home when they resolve the family quarrel."

"Why'd you disappear to Dodge?" I said.

Thorpe shrugged. "It's lively," he said. "Saloons, gambling, pool. And plenty of cheap gals, though I've only the one use for women."

"You'll abide by the law here or I'll throw ya in jail, Thorpe," I said. "Way I see it, you're a murderer, even if the government pays you to do it."

I handed him the fifty dollars Moss gave me. "What's this for," he said.

"That's your money back," I said. "Moss isn't selling his stallion, and he doesn't want your business. You take your horse out there and find another livery. Stay away from Grimmick's."

He looked at me a moment. "A U.S. marshal," he said. "It's not worth the risk. Not over a horse."

"If you mean gunplay," I said, "don't try it. You'll end up dead." I want him to try it. I want to kill him.

"I died a long time ago, Marshal," said Thorpe. "Maybe I've always been dead. Always thought I had something missing, even as a youngun." He left the office, untied his horse and walked away, holding the reins.

Chester moved to the window and looked after him. "He's trouble, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "I jest know, like ta _feel_ it. He scared me so bad out there, I near had a heart attack. D'you figure on havin' to kill 'im?"

I wanted to say, "I hope so," but it seemed the wrong thing to say to Chester, or anyone, that I wanted to kill a man. "Yes," I said instead. "I figure I'll have to kill him, Chester."

Ma Smalley

I had no wish to board one gunman at my place, much less two, so I appealed to the marshal when he came in after his rounds.

"There's one gunman came to town today, Ma," he said. "Big fella name of Judd Thorpe."

"Well, yes, he's one of them," I said. "A strange man, even as gunmen go. His features aren't bothersome; it's not that. They're clean-cut, and regular enough. It's—"

"I know, Ma," said Marshal Dillon. "I met Thorpe. You don't want him stayin' here, why not tell 'im?"

"Well, I couldn't think of a reason to tell him not to stay here," I said. "His money's good. Same with the other one came here a coupla hours after him."

"What other one," said the marshal.

"Marshal," I said, "that's what I'm trying to tell you. I know he's a gunman, too; I could see it without him saying so. He's a gaunt man with haunted eyes. Shadowed eyes. His name is Taff."

"Taff?" said the marshal. "That his last name?"

"He says that's his only name," I said. "They're both peculiar, Marshal. I know they'll make trouble; gunmen always do. I want them out of here."

"Tonight?" said Marshal Dillon. He looked tired, and I felt a bit guilty for not waiting 'til morning to tell him.

"I s'pose they can sleep the night here," I said. "They paid for their rooms."

"Alright," said the marshal. "I'll tell them come morning."

Though he never asked for a late-night snack after his rounds, if I was still up when he came in, I usually carried a bite of something to his room. Unless sick or too tired, he always ate what I fixed.

That night, I prepared hot apple pie and cheese, and hot cider with a brandy splash. Marshal Dillon had refused my cider for awhile, saying, "I'd rather just have coffee, Ma, if you got some made." I figured coffee would keep him awake, so I flavored the cider with whiskey or brandy, and he drained the cup.

When I climbed the stairs to his room and knocked, he opened the door, and I set the pie and cider on his bedside table. "That looks good, Ma; thanks," said the marshal. I smiled, about to say goodnight, when a shot cracked out from down the hall.

The marshal had taken off his gunbelt for the night, and he grabbed his gun from the holster. "Stay here, Ma," he said. "Lock the door and don't open it 'til I get back."

Matt

The boarders came out of their rooms, crowding the hallway and stairs. _"Go back in your rooms and lock your doors,"_ I said. They paid me no mind, but I had to say it.

A smoke curl drifted through the crack between the closed door of Judd Thorpe's room and the frame. I opened the door, my gun raised. The room was dark, and Thorpe stood over a man sitting on the floor and clutching his shoulder. Thorpe held a six-shooter in each hand.

"Drop those guns," I said. He dropped them.

"I'll pick the guns up for you, Marshal," said a man from behind me. Though I recognized his voice and face, I couldn't recollect his name at the moment.

Passing so close to Thorpe that her arm brushed his, Ma lighted the lamp, and a knot of frustration twisted my gut as my hold on things slipped. I don't know why I expected her to stay locked in my room when her boarders thronged the doorway to Thorpe's room. There was no telling Ma to do anything; she always did what she wanted to do.

"I made the mistake of not locking the door when I went to bed, Marshal," said Thorpe. "Taff there tried to kill me. One of those guns you told me to drop is his."

I looked at the man on the floor. His thin face was grayish, and dark circles ringed his eyes. "That true?" I said.

"Yes," Taff said faintly. "I work for the War Department. I had my orders, Marshal. Judd Thorpe killed a general."

"I was hired to kill that general," said Thorpe. "By the Department of the Interior."

"Can two of you men carry him to the jail?" I said. "And one of you get Doc."

"You can't jail me," said Taff. "I was following orders."

"I'll send a letter to the Justice Department, see if I can find out what's going on with you two," I said. "You're staying in jail until I get a response, Taff. Maybe longer, depending on what they say."

"Why don't you arrest Thorpe," said Taff. "He's killed more men than I have."

"You confessed to me that you tried to kill Thorpe," I said. "In my jurisdiction. There's no wanted poster on him, so you're the one goin' to jail."

"I can walk," said Taff, pulling away as two men tried to lift him. "The bullet went clean through my shoulder." He fainted, and the men carried him out.

"You folks go on back to your rooms," I said to the boarders. "Thorpe, Mrs. Smalley wants you out of here. Come sunup, leave."

Thorpe shrugged. Though his eyes showed no more feeling than two rocks, he somehow had the look of a man who just won a hand. I figured he counted himself lucky that I wasn't locking him up.

"Why don't you go back to your room, Ma," I said.

"Well . . . alright," she said. "As long as he's gone, first light." Thorpe hadn't glanced at her from the time she entered the room, and he didn't look when she left.

"Your enemies found you, Thorpe," I said, "and all of Dodge will know what you are in a few hours. You have no reason to stay in town."

"I'll leave when I get ready, Marshal," he said impassively.

I looked into his dead eyes and wanted to hit him. I supposed it wasn't his fault, as in the short spells I talked to him, his voice sounded stuck on the same flat key. He was just telling me how it was with him.

Thorpe blinked hard and backed up a step. He must've seen my dander was up. "I could beat you in a fight, Marshal," he said. "Not hardly a man alive can beat me, but I'm guessing you don't want to fight in the old lady's house. Seems to me you're fond of her."

"Why stay in Dodge," I said.

"I never liked running and hiding," said Thorpe. "Makes more sense to wait in one spot and kills who's after me. I meant to kill Taff, but my shot was off in the dark. I was about to strangle him and finish the job when you busted it up."

"If that's what keeps you in town, forget it, Thorpe," I said. "The first time, you shot in self-defense. Shoot Taff again, you'll either join 'im in jail or get shot yourself, and I might be the one pullin' the trigger."

"Taff will try to kill me again when he's free," said Thorpe. "Which won't be long. Washington will send someone here to take custody of Taff, and turn 'im loose soon as they're out of Dodge."

"Maybe not," I said. "When the Justice Department reads about all this in my letter."

"If you think they can stop the Army from gunning for me, you're naïve, Marshal," said Thorpe. "Like Taff said, I killed a general." He put a carpetbag on the bed and started packing his clothes, and I didn't remind him he had until sunup to move out of Ma's place.

"Where'll you bunk when you leave here," I said.

"Dodge House," he said. "I chose Miz Smalley's first off because I like home cooking. Oh, well. An assassin is welcome nowhere. My employers can't stand the sight of me."

He paused his packing to look at me again. His large barren eyes had no unsettling effect on me, except to make me think the more that like every gun for hire, he needed killing. Government assassin notwithstanding. I wanted to kill him, yet I shrank from the thought of killing him, or any man. It wasn't anger that prodded me to it, though he did rile me some. Thorpe's death was essential.

"You can't stand the sight of me either, can you, Marshal," said Thorpe.

I figured to say, _Men like you have no right to exist_. Though that was the just answer to his question, for some reason, I said nothing.

"The government paid me to kill some real bad men," said Thorpe. "You're paid to do the same thing."

"There's a big difference, Thorpe," I said. "I only kill when I have no other choice. I don't do it for money."

Strapping on his gunbelt, Thorpe opened his mouth, then shut it. "You're right," he said after a moment, putting on his hat. "I guess I was born devil's spawn, Marshal. My pa always said so."

Jonas

As I was used to gunmen patronizing my store, Judd Thorpe made me only a little uneasy. A lot of them looked that way . . . the empty eyes and whatnot. Though like most folks in Dodge, I wanted him out of town, I waited on him like any customer.

I was bagging a box of bullets for Thorpe when old Captain Upton came in the store. He was retired from the Army, and I feared trouble with Thorpe. It was all over town that Thorpe was a government assassin who'd killed a general.

Captain Upton moved to the counter as I handed the bag to Thorpe, and stared at the gunman. "You have a problem, old man?" said Thorpe. He set his bag down, and I backed to a corner away from the counter.

In his mid-seventies, Captain Upton wore a gun. He moved slowly from the rheumatiz and had trembly hands. He was fixing to beg trouble, and I was staying the deuce out of it. I didn't know him well and had no fondness for him, and beyond the obligatory respect, cared little for his age or title. I treat my patrons the same, and those I dislike, less so. If the captain wanted to act foolhardy, that was his business. I'd have naught to do with it.

"It's you, isn't it," the captain said to Thorpe. "You're that assassin who murdered an Army general."

"I was paid by the government to kill him," said Thorpe. "It's my job. Not that it's your affair, but that general used his rank as a cover for robbery. He worked with more than one renegade gang. War Department refused to oust him, said there wasn't enough evidence. So Interior hired me to kill him."

"It's not _true_." The captain pounded his fist on the counter. "An Army general would _never_ turn rogue. You're a lying _murderer_."

"What's it to you," said Thorpe. "You don't know who the general was."

"Makes no never mind who he was," said Upton. "I am an Army captain. This is a matter of _honor_."

"You mean you were an Army captain," said Thorpe. "You're nothing but a dried-up old man, now."

Captain Upton planted his boots apart and squared his shoulders. His hand trembled over his gun butt. "Draw your gun," he said.

I saw that his bullet might miss Thorpe and hit me, so I sidled alongside the shelves, closer to the door facing Front Street.

"You're senile," said Thorpe to the captain. "You want to commit suicide, go ahead and draw. I won't waste a bullet on you unless I have to."

The captain took hold of his gun butt. Thorpe shot him through the heart before he could start the draw, and he crumpled behind the counter.

"Old fool," said Thorpe, holstering his gun. I stayed where I was. Thorpe crouched behind the counter a second, then straightened up. "He's dead," said Thorpe. "I'm going to the Long Branch. I take no pleasure in killing an Army officer, an old man particularly, if he was a demented idiot. I need whiskey. You'll tell the marshal he tried to draw first?"

I nodded.

Sam

"Miss Kitty," I said, low, as the big man pushed through the batwings. "He looks like that assassin fella everyone's talking about."

"I'll ask 'im," she whispered.

"Ask him what," I said. Miss Kitty could be bold.

"If he's Judd Thorpe," she whispered.

The man placed his hands palms down on the bar with an almost graceful motion. "You folks are talking about me," he said.

"We're wondering if you're Judd Thorpe," said Miss Kitty.

"I'm Thorpe," he said. "Whiskey. Marshal Dillon will be along soon to chat with me, barkeep. I just killed an old man. He drew first."

I glanced close up at Thorpe's face and wished I hadn't. His lifeless look, the eyes particular, gave me a chill. His eyes met mine, and it was strangely hard to look away. "You're filling it too full," he said.

I quickly tilted the bottle upright and set it down. His mouth curved up in a tight grin, no mirth reflecting in his eyes.

Miss Kitty poured herself coffee, and left the bar to sit at a table near the batwings. I knew she hoped the marshal would show up fast.

"She's a beautiful woman," said Thorpe, leaning on the bar.

To discourage his attention from Miss Kitty, I said nothing.

"A lot of men tip their hat to women," said Thorpe. "I don't. I don't tire myself giving women a hard time, either, so don't worry."

Marshal Dillon walked through the batwings, and I stifled a sigh of relief.

"Ah, Dillon has arrived," said Thorpe, reading my expression, and he turned to face the marshal.

Matt

"The storekeeper tell you it was self-defense?" Thorpe said to me.

"He did," I said. "He also told me Captain Upton had no chance to lift his gun. You had time to clamp his wrist and stop him from drawing, Thorpe. Or at least shoot his hand or shoulder instead of his chest."

"Why," said Thorpe. "He was a self-righteous old fool. Even the storekeeper didn't like him, though I imagine the storekeeper had the decency not to say so to you. I don't."

Thorpe picked up his whiskey, and I swiped it out of his hand. With most men, I could see in their faces a swing coming before they made a fist. Thorpe caught me off guard, his expressionless face working in his favor. He moved fast for a big man.

His fist hammered my jaw, and the floor seemed to slant upright and slammed my back and head, knocking the wind out of me. My neck hurt more than my jaw, and the light dimmed in the Long Branch, though it was mid-afternoon and sunny. I heard Kitty gasp as I hit the floor, and shame overcame everything else.

Thorpe was quick alright, and he packed a punch like a kick from an ox, yet with his muscled frame and heavy bones, I calculated he wasn't too agile. As his face loomed over mine, his hands balled into fists, I rammed my leg into his boot. His boots tangled and he fell.

I climbed to my feet while he fought to get his breath back and raised my fists, waiting for him to stand. He barely rose when I hit him, and he staggered. I hit him again, back-fisted, on the other side of his face. He fell again, then sat on the floor and looked at me, his eyes glazed.

"Get out of Dodge, now, Thorpe," I said, "before I have to ship you back to Washington in a coffin."

"No need for that," he said, grunting as he stood up. "Boot Hill will do fine. That big oak is a nice touch."

Sam thumped a beer on the bar. "Marshal," he said.

"Thanks, Sam," I said.

"Give me a whiskey, Sam," Thorpe ordered.

"I have unfinished business in Dodge, in case you forgot, Marshal," said Thorpe.

"A death wish is what you have, Thorpe," I said. "I told you what'll happen if you try to kill Taff."

"And I told you, I'm already dead," said Thorpe. "I just need someone to pull the trigger."

Kitty

Matt and Chester would scold me for showing up at the marshal's office. Unless I needed him for something that couldn't wait until he came to see me, Matt asked me not to visit while the assassin called Taff was in jail and Thorpe was in Dodge, since Thorpe threatened to kill Taff.

Times I got a hankering though to see and talk to Matt, and had no peace 'til I did. I was curious to get a peek at Taff, besides, though Matt wouldn't want me near him.

Matt and Chester both were out. Matt said he had the whole town to protect, and no time to sit all day guarding Taff, and Chester said, 'I got important things to do, too, Mr. Dillon,' before Matt could ask or order him.

Though he usually obeyed Matt directly, Chester balked now and then, and lost his head if Matt tried to force him. With no friend to talk to, it was hard for him to stay confined indoors, except when he felt like being to himself or could sleep the hours away.

The marshal's office smelled of coffee. Chester had left it warming, meaning he or Matt would be back soon. The door to the jail cells was closed. Feeling nervous, I took a deep breath, moved to the door, turned the knob and cautiously pushed the door open.

Taff lay sleeping on his back. He wore pants, but no shirt over his union suit, which covered the bandage wrapping his arm and right shoulder where Thorpe shot him. He wasn't skeletal with hollowed cheeks like Ma's boarders said, just very thin, mid height and fine-boned. I guessed Delmonico's meals had filled him out a little, and lightened the circles the boarders described as black around his eyes. He was neither noticeably handsome or unpleasant to look at.

I stepped through the door to get a better look. No commonplace gunman, he was only the second government assassin I'd seen, Thorpe being the first. Taff was about Matt or Chester's age. With his face relaxed in sleep, Taff looked ordinary, if sickly.

His eyes blinked open and looked into mine. The townsfolk said he had haunted eyes. Dark in color, his eyes just looked sad to me. He gazed at me, saying nothing, and I turned to go.

"Must you leave?" Taff said softly. I turned back round.

"You're lovely," he said. "What's your name."

"Kitty Russell." I had to get out of there. He'd mention me to Matt or Chester. That I'd looked in on Taff at all, much less talked to him, would displease and worry Matt. Had Taff not been wounded, and not had sad eyes, I would've found leaving easy. That's what I told myself.

"Kitty Russell," he said. He sniffed the air. "The marshal's man makes good coffee," he said. "You know him?"

"Chester?" I said. "Sure. You want some coffee?"

"Please," said Taff. "Chester treats me well. I was jailed other places, like federal jail. Never had it more charitable than here. The marshal treats me well, too, but he thinks I need killing. I see it in his eyes, even though he said he'd try to protect me from Thorpe. Not that I'm complaining. Dillon's a lawman; I don't take it personally. Dodge has a fine doctor, too. Tended me no different than an honest citizen. You know Doc . . . Mrs.?"

"Miss," I said. "Doc's a friend of mine. So is Chester. And . . . Marshal Dillon. I'll get your coffee."

When I returned with a steaming cup, Taff had put his arm in a sling and sat on the bed, his bare feet on the floor.

"You'll have to pick it up," I said. "I can't unlock the cell door or hand it through to you."

"I don't expect you to," said Taff. I placed the cup inside the bars on the floor, and backed away from the cell. "It's hard, getting shot through the right shoulder when you're right-handed," he said. "I have to be careful not to hurt myself when I do things like drink hot coffee. I'm obliged to you, Miss Kitty."

I nodded and gave him a little smile. "I have to go," I said. "I came to see Matt, but he hasn't got back."

"You're not in any trouble, I hope," said Taff. He sat on the bed and sipped his coffee.

"No," I said. "No trouble. Just visiting."

"You the marshal's woman?" he said.

"You could say that," I said.

"Then it's not a surety," said Taff.

"I have to go," I said, with another tepid smile.

Sipping his coffee, he looked into my eyes, and I knew he wouldn't say 'Bye,' or any such politeness. I figured Taff wanted me to stay and talk to him long as I would.

I turned and left the jail, closing the door, and my heart jumped when I saw Thorpe's dead eyes peering through the office window.

Had Taff been any other gunman, I'd have run off, sent a boy to look for Matt, and gone about my business, and Chester or Matt would tell me later what happened. I wasn't sure what made Taff's life matter, except he was helpless and alone in that jail cell, and he liked me; he wanted my company.

I picked up a shotgun, backed against the jail door, and aimed the shotgun at the front door. The door opened and Thorpe came in, holding a gun at the ready. My heart racing and palms sweating, I pointed the shotgun at his chest.

"What do you think you're doing, woman," said Thorpe. "Put that shotgun down and move away from the door."

" _No,"_ I said, trying not to gasp. I didn't want him to know how afraid I was.

"You're the Long Branch proprietess," said Thorpe. "What the deuce are you doing guarding a prisoner. Is Dillon off his head?"

"You get outa here," I said, "or I'll shoot."

Thorpe hesitated. "I never shot a woman," he said. "Not that it'd trouble me any, but I'd look bad. Although I already have a murderous reputation. I can't look much worse."

I started to feel a fool for not running away when I had the chance. I had no wish to die for Taff, particularly as Thorpe would kill him anyway, after he killed me. Taff was a stranger to me, and he killed men he'd never met for money. He wasn't worth sacrificing my life.

"You've got sense after all, haven't you," said Thorpe. "I don't want to shoot you, woman. Just put the gun down and leave."

Chester walked in, scarce a boot length away from Thorpe. I thought of shooting Thorpe, but feared hitting Chester. As Thorpe whirled, I screamed, _"Look out, Chester!"_

Chester grabbed Thorpe's gun hand. _"Run, Miss Kitty, run!"_ Chester shouted, struggling with Thorpe.

I leaped forward, rammed the shotgun barrel against Thorpe's temple, and pulled back the hammer. He froze, and Chester took the gun from him, stepped back, and leveled it at him. "Git your hands up," said Chester, and Thorpe raised his arms.

I lowered the shotgun. I wanted to swing it at Thorpe's head, though not for Taff or me. I wanted to whack Thorpe for almost shooting Chester.

"Alright, Miss Kitty?" said Chester.

"I'm fine," I quavered, hoping Chester wouldn't see me shivering. He had enough on his hands with Thorpe.

As Chester locked Thorpe in the other cell, I moved near the jail doorway, to see Taff's reaction. He gripped the bars and stared at Thorpe. Unlike Thorpe, Taff had an expressive face and eyes. He looked pale and scared.

Chester closed the door to the jail, sighed and looked at me.

"I'm fine, Chester," I said. He nodded, looking at me. I didn't know what else to say to ease his mind, so I laid my hand on his arm. "Let's have coffee and wait for Matt," I said.

Chester nodded again. "You set," he said. "I'll fetch it. Miss Kitty, I dunno what you was doin' in here when Mr. Dillon asked you not to come whilst Taff was in the jail," he said, pouring coffee. "Mr. Dillon tole you Thorpe was gunnin' for Taff."

"I know, Chester," I said. "I'm so sorry. Thorpe might've killed us both, 'cause of me." I felt my eyes fill, and Chester looked alarmed.

"Oh . . . _heavens_ ," he said. He set the coffee cups on the table, sat down and patted my hand. "Please don't cry, Miss Kitty," he said. "Twasn't none of it your fault, none at all."

"It wasn't?" I said.

"Not at all," said Chester. "Truth be told, if you hadn't a been here to warn me, I might be dead now. Thorpe might've shot me."

I hadn't thought of it that way. I squeezed his hand, and gave him a tremulous smile. "Oh, Chester," I said.

"Don't fret none, Miss Kitty," he said. "That Thorpe's locked up, ain't goin' nowheres. You and me'll keep company easy, and wait on Mr. Dillon."

"Alright, Chester," I said.

"Jest wish I knew what you was here for, to put yerself in danger," said Chester. "When Mr. Dillon said not to."

"I wanted to see Matt," I said, looking into my coffee cup. "To pass the time. And I wanted to see what Taff was like. He wanted coffee and talk, so I gave 'im some coffee—"

"My _gracious_ , Miss Kitty," Chester said.

"Well, I didn't unlock the cell door, or hand it to 'im," I said. "I didn't see any harm in putting a cup through the bars on the floor. Then I saw Thorpe through the window, and I just couldn't run away and leave Taff alone to die."

"Oh," said Chester seriously, nodding. He sipped his coffee and looked at me, waiting, I guessed, for me to let him know what we should talk of next, if anything. Now that we were safe and calm, I saw that he felt overwhelmed.

"We'll wait for Matt, Chester," I said. Matt walked in, then.

"We been waitin' fer you, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "You were a spell comin'."

"Kitty, what're you doin' here," said Matt. "I asked you not to come while Thorpe's in town, biding his time to show up and shoot Taff."

"Oh, Thorpe ain't a danger no more, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "I throwed 'im in jail."

"Ya _did_ ," said Matt.

"Yessir. He showed when Miss Kitty was here and you and me was out. He was fixin' ta shoot Taff, but Miss Kitty, she held a shotgun on 'im."

" _Kitty,"_ said Matt.

"Then I come in," said Chester, "and Miss Kitty screamed 'Look out,' and Thorpe and me wrestled for his gun, and Miss Kitty—" Chester sucked in a breath. "Miss Kitty, she put the shotgun to Thorpe's head."

"You alright, Kitty?" said Matt.

"I'm fine," I said. "So is Thorpe, unfortunately. I wanted to kill 'im. He almost killed Chester."

"Chester?" said Matt.

"Alright, Mr. Dillon."

Matt opened the door to the jail, glanced at Thorpe, and closed the door. "Well, I don't like you putting yourself in harm's way, Kitty," said Matt, "but I'll rest a lot easier knowing Thorpe's locked up. You and Chester did good work here. I wish you'd reconsider hiring on as deputy," he joked.

"No, thanks," I said. "I already have a job."

I realized after what happened that I was in no state for visiting, even with Matt. I needed to go to my room at the Long Branch, lock the door, change to a dressing gown, and lie down and rest.

"I'm going to my room, Matt," I said. "Maybe I'll see you tonight."

"Alright, Kitty."

"Can I walk you to the Long Branch, Miss Kitty?" said Chester.

"No," I said. "I'd rather go by myself." I wondered as I walked if being Matt's girl was worth the troubles of owning the Long Branch and living in Dodge City. Matt showed no sign of asking me to be his wife. I wondered if he ever would, or if I was willing to wait uhtil he did.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Doc

I was going to the marshal's office to see how Taff mended, when I saw Kitty walking slowly and looking dispirited. She didn't notice me. "Kitty," I said.

She looked at me, and her face brightened a little. "Oh, hello, Doc," she said.

"Anything wrong?" I said.

"You goin' to the marshal's office?" she said.

"To tend Taff," I said.

"Matt and Chester will tell you all about it," said Kitty.

"Matt and Chester will tell me all about what," I said.

"Let them tell you, Doc. I'm kinda tired. I'm goin' to my room to rest."

"You feelin' alright?" I said.

"I'm not sick," said Kitty. "I'll see you later, Doc."

"Well, lay down quiet, long as you need to," I said. "Don't get up 'til you're rested."

Matt was writing at the desk, and Chester lay on the bed. "Doc," said Matt.

"Matt," I said. "You tired, too, Chester? I saw Kitty on my way here. She looked way too tired to suit me. Dejected, too."

Matt stopped writing. "Kitty just had a shock," he said.

"A shock," I said. "What happened?"

Matt looked at Chester, who was usually eager to tell me when anything out of the way went on. Looking blank, Chester watched me from his pillow.

"Chester must've had a shock, too," I said. "You best tell me, Matt."

"I'm jest a lil wore down, Doc," said Chester. "Man sech as me, workin' as I do for a U.S. marshal, don't shock easy."

Matt told me about Thorpe and Taff and Kitty and Chester, and by the time Matt finished the story, Chester was snoring. "I hope Kitty's resting as well as he is," I said.

"I don't know anyone sleeps like Chester," said Matt.

Matt and I moved to Taff's cell, and Matt unlocked the door. Thorpe sat in his cell and stared at us as I cleaned Taff's wound, sprinkled it with healing powder, and wrapped a clean bandage around his shoulder.

Thorpe and Taff were very different. Thorpe sat motionless, hardly blinking, and I had a strange notion that he might've been a dead man, sitting there. I knew when folks could die any minute, and when they had days, or weeks or months to live. I knew without examining Thorpe that he was in strong health, yet an air of death surrounded him, which I couldn't dismiss as mere fancifulness on my part.

Taff on the other hand had been in frail health when Thorpe shot him. With tending and bedrest, he was growing stronger and more alive. His face and eyes mirrored a host of feelings, his bony frame shifted under my hands, and his skin was warm, a little hotter near the wound.

"See he gets plenty of water," I said to Matt, "and the tonic twice a day. His temperature's up a bit, but that's normal with gunshot. Infection around the wound's not spreading."

We moved to the office, and Matt closed the jail door and poured me a cup of coffee. Chester still slept. "It's strong, Doc," said Matt. "Bottom of the pot."

"I like it strong," I said. "Long as I drink it weak rest of the day, so it don't sour my belly.

"Judd Thorpe's a peculiar one," I said, "even for a gunman. He unnerves me. I don't figure he has that affect on you, Matt. I'll bet there's not a man alive can spook you."

"Men are just men to me, Doc," said Matt. "They're either good, bad, or in between like most of us. Thorpe looks and sounds the way he does on account of something missing inside. He said so himself.

"His face doesn't trouble me," Matt went on. "What troubles me is what I think when I see his face. I think he needs to die."

"You think Taff needs to die, too?" I said.

"Taff _will_ die, if he keeps killing, and he won't be old when he does," said Matt. "It's not for me to judge when it should happen, though."

"So Taff don't need to die now, and Thorpe does," I said.

"I can't explain it, Doc," said Matt. "I'm no parson. It's how I feel, and it . . . plagues me."

"Well, don't let it plague you too much," I said. "Thorpe's not worth you havin' a guilty conscience, Matt. Not for a heartbeat."

"I'll try and remember that," said Matt.

The U.S. marshal from Washington arrived, then, a young handsome fellow in a fine suit. Matt and I rose from our chairs, and Chester woke and sat up on the bed, raking his fingers though his hair.

"Marshal Matthew Dillon?" the man said.

"Yes," said Matt.

The fellow swept off his hat. "U.S. Marshal Zechariah Jamison, District of Columbia," he announced, and handed Matt a sealed envelope. "This is from the Attorney General's Office," said Marshal Jamison. "The letter states that Judd Thorpe and Taff are working under orders as government employees, and you're to release Taff from jail at once." Matt frowned, opened the letter and read.

"When I checked my bag at Dodge House, the desk clerk told me you arrested Mr. Thorpe as well," said Jamison.

"By thunder," I said. "Amazing how news travels in this town."

"The letter states that if you've jailed Mr. Thorpe, you're to release him, also," said Jamison.

"My goodness," said Chester. "Why, Judd Thorpe's a menace."

Matt stopped reading, and I sat down again. Jamison was an official sort, impeccably groomed, but he was a marshal like Matt, not the president. I saw no reason to keep standing in Jamison's presence. He looked younger than Chester, who hadn't bothered to stand at all.

"Thorpe and Taff want to kill each other, Marshal," said Matt.

"Yes, sir. All is in order," said Jamison. "The Department of the Interior commissioned Thorpe to kill a renegade general, a murderer and bandit who had some of his own men killed when they found out what he was. The War Department then dispatched Taff to kill Thorpe. They wanted the general dead, but feared to give the order on account of a lack of evidence and bad publicity. Then when Thorpe killed the general, they wanted Thorpe dead to appease civilians and Army servicemen who know nothing about the general being a rogue. They only know of him as a decorated general who was murdered."

"Good heavens," I said. "Our government is far more lunatic than I ever imagined, and I imagined quite a bit."

I glanced at Chester to see how he was taking this. He looked stunned. He wasn't following any of it. If this Jamison character talked much longer, I'd have to take Chester out for air.

"Jamison," said Matt, "if I release these men to your custody, will you take them back to Washington with you? Get 'em out of Dodge?"

"Sir, Thorpe was sent away from headquarters for a time as a lot of people want him dead," said Jamison. "And Taff was sent to track Thorpe down and kill him."

Although I knew what Taff was, I'd treated him, talked to him. With his wound, he couldn't defend himself against Thorpe. When I saved a man from dying, I wanted to keep saving him long as he needed it, no matter what he was.

"Matt," I said, "Taff can barely un-holster a gun. He won't be able to walk down the street without passing out."

"Taff's ill?" said Jamison.

"Thorpe shot 'im when Taff tried to kill him," said Matt.

"Then that makes it easy for you," said Jamison. "Thorpe will gun Taff down, and there'll be an end to it. Not to worry, Marshal. Thorpe never stays anywhere long. He'll tire of Dodge and move on."

"I'll offer Taff protection," said Matt. "If he wants to, he can stay in jail. I won't force a wounded man out to be shot in the street like a hunted animal."

"Why should you care what happens to him," said Jamison. "He's a killer."

"I'm honoring the terms of this letter, Jamison," said Matt, tapping the letter on his hand. "I'll let Thorpe go—"

"Sakes alive," said Chester.

"And Taff is free to leave if he chooses to," said Matt. "If he chooses to stay in jail, he can."

"Very well, Marshal," said Jamison. He twirled his hat in his hands, shifted his boots, and looked around the office, seemingly growing impatient with his pompous role. I figured he wanted to be off.

"Don't let me keep you," said Matt.

"I'm required to witness their release," said Jamison.

"Alright," said Matt. "Get Taff's gun, Chester."

Looking dazed, Chester rose from his seat on the bed. "You want I should get Thorpe's gun, too, Mr. Dillon?" said Chester.

"No," said Matt.

Chester took the jail key from its peg, and opened the door to the jail, Matt and Jamison behind him.

"Marshal Jamison," said Taff, who lay on the bunk.

Thorpe stood and moved to the bars.

"Taff," said Matt, "This letter from the Attorney General's Office orders me to release you and Thorpe. Doc says you're in no condition to defend yourself. You want protection from Thorpe, you can bunk here 'til you're mended. We'll leave the cell door unlocked, if you're of a mind to leave. " Chester unlocked the cell door, went inside, and put Taff's gun beside him on the bunk.

"It's loaded," said Chester.

"I'm obliged, Marshal," said Taff. "I'll stay for now."

Matt moved to the cell where Thorpe stood at the bars. "Move back from the bars," said Matt. Thorpe stepped back, and Chester unlocked the cell door and swung it open.

"My gun?" said Thorpe.

"You threaten the life of any man or woman in this town, again, Thorpe, I'll kill ya," said Matt.

"I assume you mean the beautiful woman who almost blew my head off, and your friend Chester here, who interfered with me trying to kill your guest Taff, who incidentally nearly killed me," said Thorpe.

Matt handed Thorpe's gunbelt to Jamison. "That's mine," said Thorpe.

"I cooperated with you, Marshal," Matt said to Jamison. "Now I need a favor."

"If I can," said Jamison.

"Escort Thorpe to the outskirts of town and give 'im his gun," said Matt. "I don't want him trying any gunplay in here."

"I'll do that, Marshal," said Jamison.

"You're only postponing the inevitable, Marshal," said Thorpe. "I'll come back to the jail and kill Taff. I won't rest 'til I do."

"Let's go, Thorpe," said Jamison. They left.

"I understand, now, Matt," I said. "About Thorpe needing to die. It's natural he'd gun for Taff, since Taff tried to kill him first, but if he was any better than a brute animal, he'd wait 'til Taff's healed and call 'im out like a man. Not to mention, Thorpe could've killed Kitty and Chester. I just wish _I_ had the gizzard to kill Thorpe." I didn't mean that last part, though saying it made me feel better. I wanted Thorpe dead, but didn't want to kill him.

"So do I," said Chester. I think he _did_ mean it. "You should oughter call Thorpe out, Mr. Dillon," he said.

"Thorpe won't fight me, Chester," said Matt. "He's too smart to draw first; he knows he'd hang if he killed me."

"I know one thing," I said. "I'm not easy with Taff having a loaded gun in an unlocked cell. Even with a clipped wing, he's dangerous as Thorpe in his own way. Chester sleeping in here alone at night, with Thorpe waitin' on his chance to shoot Taff . . . ." I shook my head.

"I'll sleep with a shotgun by the bed, Doc," said Chester.

"And I'm sleepin' here in the office 'til Taff leaves," said Matt. "We'll drag out the bunk from the other cell." Chester perked up and hurried to the cell to drag out the bunk.

"I'll help you bring the bed out, Chester," I said.

"Ain't no need, Doc; I can manage," said Chester.

"I want to; how's that?" I said.

"Well, alright, Doc," said Chester. "Don't get yourself in a tizzy."

Chester

When Mr. Dillon left the office, he give orders for me to stay in and guard Taff. I didn't want to, howsoever I saw the need. Mr. Dillon went out long spells, and I got the fidgets.

I knew how to stand guard; I done it enough times. He always learned me the same what to do before he left. "Keep a shotgun loaded at hand, Chester, and don't let yourself nod off 'til I get back," Mr. Dillon said. "Drink as much coffee as you need to stay awake. And don't get to doin' something so you forget to watch the doors and windows."

I wanted a beer and seeing Miss Kitty come sundown, but Mr. Dillon said what happened with Thorpe and the shotgun made her languish, and Doc said she might go from Dodge if Mr. Dillon didn't give her special attentions. He had dinner with Miss Kitty at Delmonico's, and carried for me a plate back. I had to wait 'til they ate for my supper.

"Chester, if you mope over this, you'll be off your guard," said Mr. Dillon. "I need your help here."

"I passed a whole day and night long not seein' Miss Kitty," I said, "on account of you was out with her for dinner _and_ a beer. I missed to see her at all."

"It won't be much longer," he said. "Doc says Taff'll be mended enough to use his six-shooter soon. He'll leave jail."

"You gonna let Thorpe and Taff fight it out here in town, Mr. Dillon?" I said.

"I have no choice, Chester," he said. "They're free men. I had orders from Washington."

"Well, I don't understand that at all," I said. "Both of 'em oughter be in jail, way I see it."

Taff liked company, chatting and playing checkers and such. Him being gunshot, and Doc saying Taff was sick when Thorpe put a bullet through him, I was neighborly and passed the time with him. He was tolerable, to tell the truth of it, like some gunmen are. Not that I took to gunmen. As a rule, I did not.

"Kitty asked how Taff was mending," Mr. Dillon said. "I don't know why a man like Taff would interest her. She gives gunmen the time of day at the Long Branch; nothing else."

"Miss Kitty oughter stayed out from the jail, like you told 'er, Mr. Dillon," I said. "It jest makes trouble for women, bein' roun' fellers like Taff. I wish I could see her, though," I said.

"I know, Chester," said Mr. Dillon. "Kitty and Doc'll take you to dinner tonight. Come back to the office after while I do my rounds early, then you can go have a beer."

"I will," I said. That made me feel some better.

Mr. Dillon slept nights in the bed me and Doc drug from the jail cell. Mr. Dillon had me set the bed front of the desk, so I'd be one side of the office and him the other if Thorpe busted through the door and come in shooting. We had a warm spell harvest time and left the windows open when we went to bed. The doors, we locked.

I was sleeping sound, dreaming of a picnic and fishing with Miss Kitty in the summertime. Picture pretty in a sky color dress with flower sprigs and lace, and a straw hat with pink roses, she smiled at me.

"I'm sure glad those assassins are gone, Chester," Miss Kitty said. "Now we can have a picnic whenever we get the notion."

Nothing come to me to answer right along, so I smiled back at her. Then of a sudden Miss Kitty's face turned scared, and she screamed, _"Look out, Chester!"_

I turned round and Thorpe was there holding his gun on me. He pulled the trigger, and the shot hurt my ears powerful, but I didn't feel the bullet hit, just a noise, _clang_ , and the bullet dropped cold on my head.

Then I heard another shot, and waked. Thorpe had shot through the lock and stood in the doorway. He aimed at me, and I rolled off the bed, taking hold on the shotgun I kept there on the floor since we commenced guarding Taff. Thorpe didn't know Mr. Dillon was on the bed next the desk, as that bed was in a cell when Thorpe was in jail.

It was hard seeing in the dark, but Thorpe made a big target, like a haint shadow. Mr. Dillon shot fast on his feet and emptied his gun. I never seen him do that shooting one man.

I aimed the shotgun from my knees and pulled the trigger. Thorpe most killed me and I wanted to shoot him, if only just once. I think I hit him, but weren't sure where my shot hit and where Mr. Dillon's hit.

Then the jail door opened and Taff stood there a skinny shadow. Thorpe had fell by then, and he made the floorboards shake. Holding his gun in both hands, Taff walked to Thorpe, pointing the gun at him. "He's down, Taff," said Mr. Dillon. Taff pulled the trigger, and Thorpe's body jumped.

" _Chester?"_ said Mr. Dillon.

" _I'm alright,"_ I said. "He didn't get me."

I patted my hand on the mattress, and found the bullet that dropped from my head when I rolled off the bed. The _clang_ in my dream was the bullet hitting the wall, when Thorpe shot at me through the window before his next shot busted the door lock.

Me and Mr. Dillon didn't talk later of Taff having bad gunman blood, shooting Thorpe when he was down. Mr. Dillon hisself shot Thorpe six times, and I shot him once when Mr. Dillon stopped shooting.

All the bullets hit Thorpe; he had eight holes in him. Twas a wonder his head stayed attached.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Matt

His arm in a sling, Taff left Dodge the morning after we killed Thorpe. "I was granted a reprieve, Marshal," said Taff. "I'm through being an assassin." With Doc's ministrations, two Delmonico's meals a day, jerky with scrapple and molasses for lunch, and Chester's scrupulous caretaking, Taff had gained a few pounds. The black circles round his eyes had faded to brown smudges, and his face no longer looked like a skull. He was taking the train to Laramie.

"Men who haven't killed half so many as me are rotting in prison or facing the noose, yet I'm free, with a hundred thousand dollars savings. If Thorpe hadn't shot me, I might've died soon anyway, if I didn't get to a doctor. Doc said I had blood sickness," said Taff.

"One can't retire from assassin's work without deadly consequences," he went on. Taff was chatty. I wished he'd have done with it and leave, get on out of town.

Chester listened closely to him, which didn't surprise me. Thorpe and Taff were the first federal assassins we'd seen, in Dodge or anywhere.

"The government will track me down and shoot me, eventually," said Taff, "so I figure to live what time I have, sinless as possible. You believe the Bible, Marshal?"

"Yes," I said. "You'll miss the noon train."

"Of course," said Taff. "I'm obliged to you and Chester and Doc." He left.

"Forevermore," said Chester. "I'm glad Thorpe and Taff are gone, like Miss Kitty said."

"Chester, you haven't seen Kitty since before the shooting," I said. "She might not've got word of any of this yet."

"She knew in my dream, last night," said Chester. "When she warned me to look out for Thorpe fixin' to shoot me."

"That wasn't a dream," I said. "Kitty screamed for you to look out, and you wrestled for Thorpe's gun, remember?"

"Gracious, Mr. Dillon; I recollect that," he said. "Thorpe showed in my dream, too, and Miss Kitty warned me again. He shot at me in the dream, same time he was shootin' through the window.

"It's truth, Mr. Dillon," said Chester, when I looked at him.

"Alright, Chester," I said.

"You don't believe me," he said, hushed like. Chester tended to start quiet when he was getting het up, and after what he'd been through with Thorpe, I wanted to calm him before he turned loud and stomped out.

"I'm goin' to see if Kitty's ready for lunch," I said. "Ya hungry?" He looked unsure. "Come on, Chester," I said, patting his shoulder.

"What about Doc," he said, putting on his hat.

"We'll stop by for Doc after we go for Kitty."

Kitty was relieved to see Chester, like she'd worried about him, and I thought of his dream. "I heard about the shooting," she said. "Chester, I don't know how I coulda known; I couldn't. I was so afraid for you last night, I couldn't sleep, thinking of Thorpe."

"Were you afraid for me, too?" I said.

"Oh, Matt," Kitty said. "If I let myself worry about you, I'd never get any sleep at all."

"You screamed for me to look out again, last night, Miss Kitty. I dreamt it. Thorpe shot at me in the dream, and when I waked, he done had shot at me through the window," said Chester. "Mr. Dillon don't believe me."

"I believe you, now, Chester," I said. And I did.

"We came to get you and Doc for lunch, Kitty," I said.

She'd sat drinking coffee when we walked in the Long Branch, and Chester and I stood by the table. She got up from her chair, smiling at Chester.

"You and me was on a picnic in the dream," he said to Kitty, "and afore you seen Thorpe and warned me, you said how happy you were the assassins was gone."

"Oh, Chester," said Kitty. "I _am_ happy." She hugged him, and he grinned at her while his face turned red.

"I'm feelin' left out here." I said it joshing, but I did feel it some.

Kitty hugged me. "Let's get Doc," she said, holding onto my arm. "I'm hungry."


End file.
